


rinse & repeat

by inarizaki (xixuwus)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Moving Out, Siblings, i don't know what to tell you guys they wash dishes and atsumu has feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26859154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xixuwus/pseuds/inarizaki
Summary: they always wash dishes together.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	rinse & repeat

**Author's Note:**

> the idea for this actually came from Miya Twin Week day 4: family prompt, and [i drew a piece](https://twitter.com/wenjunslut/status/1312420117159043075?s=20) with the twins washing dishes because that was something that i really associated with family, and then i couldn't stop thinking about it, so i wrote this as a late late late entry that goes with the piece.

atsumu always does the soaping. osamu always does the rinsing. 

“dude, hurry the fuck up,” osamu snaps. his hand is outstretched, waiting for atsumu to finish washing the dish so that he can rinse it and put it on the drying rack.

“calm the fuck down. it’s really stuck on there,” he says, bumping osamu with his shoulder. 

osamu puffs up his chest like he’s trying to intimidate atsumu, and then he exhales with an annoyed grunt. 

truth be told, atsumu is scrubbing at memories slipping between his soapy fingers and down the swirling drain along with all the other scraps of their childhood. it’s been over a month since osamu quit volleyball. they don’t hang out with the same crowds anymore. osamu has friends who talk about video games and comics and go out for pizza and coffee; atsumu has the volleyball team and practices day and night like he always does alongside the occasional dinners that kita will treat the team to after a long day. 

the only bridge between their activities, surprisingly, is suna, who always manages to get the twins out to watch a movie or crashes on their couch for a study session that devolves into the three of them tossing a volleyball around the room and praying it doesn’t hit a lamp. 

“you’re not plannin’ on going to college?” atsumu asks, voice small and barely heard over the rush of water. he finally hands osamu the soaped plate. 

“no, i’m gonna be an apprentice. i found a teacher already,” he says. atsumu’s heart clenches like osamu is saying he’s moving overseas and never plans to return home. “why’re you interested? it’s not like yer goin’ to college either,” he adds. 

it’s true. despite being immediately sponsored to play for universities around the country, atsumu had no interest in attending college. tryouts for several v.league teams were starting soon, and his better option was to apply for those. if this had been a month ago, he wouldn’t have doubted that he would get in, but now, his knees are a little shaky at the thought of tryouts. 

but if osamu attended college, maybe he could convince him to just try out for the volleyball team there. they’d have to let him in; he was the second best they’d get to atsumu (better than atsumu actually, he thinks). maybe osamu’s spirit for volleyball would be renewed. he’ll be a couple years behind, but he could make it to v.league with atsumu and they can be on the same team, and they can pretend like their little scuffle in the inarizaki gym after spring nationals never happened.

they can pretend they didn’t swear their happiness away fighting on the linoleum gym floors. 

“‘tsumu, if you’re gonna be this slow at washing, just give me the sponge and you can rinse,” osamu complains, reaching over to grab the sponge from atsumu.

atsumu jerks the sponge and the plate away. “hell no, i’m washin’—back off!” he exclaims. 

osamu reaches over again and atsumu takes a step back. osamu loses his balance and his hand plunges into the sink full of cutlery. “shit…” he hisses, pulling out his bloody hand; it probably got cut on one of the knives. he immediately starts washing the blood off under the water. 

“‘samu… i’m sorry—” 

“do the dishes yourself,” osamu snaps, shutting off the water and storming off to find a bandage. 

atsumu finishes washing the dishes in silence. when they were younger, atsumu actually liked rinsing more than washing. he was good at getting all the soap off fast and making sure it was squeaky clean so that he and osamu could go play. these days, atsumu likes the washing part. 

* * *

osamu decides to move out of the house a week early. 

“i’m not helpin’ ya move,” atsumu says. “beg me all ya want, i’m not gonna help.” 

“no one’s beggin’ ya to do anything,” osamu snorts, picking up another box and hauling it into the moving truck. 

“well, good! because i’m not helping you!” it’s childish and low, and once the last box is loaded, atsumu still climbs into the truck with osamu and the uncle who let them borrow the truck. “because mom doesn’t want you to be lonely on the first night,” atsumu lies. mom isn’t worried about osamu in a new city in an apartment by himself; she’s worried about atsumu at home in a room that used to be twice as full. 

atsumu complains for the whole trip to tokyo. 

their uncle is more than happy to take a break at a nearby bar when they arrive, unable to stand another second of atsumu’s whining. osamu luckily had the stamina to withstand atsumu’s ranting. despite his adamance in not helping osamu in the slightest, atsumu made the four trips up and down the stairs with osamu to bring the boxes into the apartment. 

“are ya done talkin’ yet?” osamu grumbles, setting down the last box. “i ain’t heard ya talk this much since we met that kid hinata.” 

atsumu’s tongue was fat and dry, throat parched. he knows he needs to stop talking, knows he should take some time to just breathe, but every time he looks at the apartment that osamu will now be residing in, he can’t help but remember that there will be one less person in the house when he goes back home. 

originally, atsumu was going to stay the night, a sort of last farewell before he really had to start living his own life apart from osamu. they’d always lived separate lives, but now they’re living their lives separately. it’s a little scary. 

“i’m gonna go home with uncle,” atsumu mumbles, shouldering his bag and zipping up his jacket, hiding his face in the collar. 

“i thought you wanted to stay the night,” osamu says, shuffling around the corner of the kitchen counter. “i brought an extra mattress just for you.” 

atsumu bites the inside of his cheek and punches osamu’s arm. “nah. i gotta practice early tomorrow. aran said he’d practice with me.” it’s not a total lie. he and aran did have plans to practice. 

“alright, get home safe,” he says. 

they both stand at the doorway, staring at each other. osamu used to be timid when they were young, following on atsumu’s heels and clinging to his elbow. now, he’s leaving the nest first. atsumu’s cheeks start to heat up. 

“hey, don’t cry, you fucker,” osamu snaps, pushing atsumu’s shoulder. “i’m not dyin’. i’m comin’ home on the weekend for dinner, so stop it.” 

“fine, shit,” atsumu mutters, rubbing his palms against his eyes. god, fucking pathetic. 

atsumu smiles like it takes all his energy just to lift the corners of his mouth and claps him on the shoulder. “night, bro.” 

“night.” 

atsumu and his uncle don’t talk on the way home. 

* * *

osamu comes for dinner on the weekend. it won’t happen very often, he tells them. he’s starting work in an industry that works day and night, hard hours and shifts that are seemingly endless, so he might not always make it home on time, if at all. 

but for this time, their parents make a big deal about osamu coming home. they cook all his favorite dishes and chatter about how excited they are to see their son despite the fact that he’s only been gone a week and their mother has called him every single night since he’d left. atsumu doesn’t mind that they make a fuss over osamu coming home. if he wasn’t so prideful, he’d be clinging to his waist just like his mother too. 

he’s not gone, atsumu reminds himself as they sit down to eat. 

after dinner, atsumu holes himself up in his room, makes plans with suna to have lunch tomorrow and wishing each other luck for the upcoming tryouts. this is only one team out of many, but it’s atsumu’s mountain to climb. 

“hey,” osamu says, doesn’t bother knocking as he comes into the room. 

“hey, long time no see, bastard,” atsumu jokes.

osamu would’ve thrown something at him if his stuff was still on the other side of the room. most everything was at osamu’s new apartment. atsumu hasn’t found anything to fill up the spot where osamu’s bed used to be. 

“here.” he tosses a lucky charm onto atsumu’s bed. 

“what’s this?” he picks it up and flips it in his fingers a few times.

“you have tryouts tomorrow, right? it’s for you. for luck.” 

atsumu’s breath gets caught in his throat as he chokes on the memory of them walking into their middle school gym together, hand-in-hand; the endless summer days passing around a volleyball; the countless, meaningless competitions they held against each other and aran on crisp autumn evenings—and it all finally led to osamu giving him a plain red silk packet. 

tears spring to atsumu’s eyes. osamu leaves before he starts wailing, grumbling about him being a crybaby. ten minutes later, he comes back in to ask atsumu to wash the dishes with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wenjunslut)


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